


I'll think about it

by haku23



Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Breathplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haku23/pseuds/haku23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daken really wants Johnny to choke him and Johnny (eventually and begrudgingly) obliges. Plentiful consensual use and abuse of pheromones. Please read the tags before reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll think about it

**Author's Note:**

> The heart wants what the heart wants and the heart wants Daken being choked apparently. It ought to go without saying but breathplay is very dangerous and unless you have a healing factor you would probably be safer NOT trying it. And Disclaimer that I do not advocate pushing your partner's limits irl ok; play should be fun for everyone involved and if someone isn't comfy doing something you definitely should not try to goad them into doing it. 
> 
> But then I'm sure if you're reading fic with these two losers you know how Daken is and it's not always good. Mostly not-good. Like 99% of the time is not-good.

“It’s not hard, Johnny,” he says and presses his weight down onto his lap, “the choking thing, I mean, you…on the other hand.”

He shudders when Daken shifts again, purposely not giving enough friction to relieve any of the pressure in his groin, “Don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“You won’t.” Johnny can’t hurt him even if he tries, and so he will have to make do with what he can give him for the moment in light of his usual playmates being in jail, missing, or probably dead. He rubs a thumb across his cheek, “besides, typically people pass out before they fully asphyxiate and you’ll be good and stop after that, won’t you?” 

Johnny huffs out a breath, his arousal spiking and Daken laughs at him; of course he would like to hear he’s good. Typical hero, chasing the idea of morality while scrambling to devour the scraps of praise, of acknowledgement he gets. “Are you gonna let me come if I do that?” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

He will, probably, because Johnny has little patience and an orgasm will wipe away some of the doubt he has about this arrangement. Not really an arrangement at all, really, them both having fallen into a strange groove because in spite of the arrogance Johnny loves being bossed around so long as he gets to complain a little bit about it and keep his ego intact.

“You’re a jerk, y’know that, right?” 

Daken twists to pull the rope off of his hands; a necessary precaution while Johnny learns to keep them to himself when Daken doesn’t want him to use them. He flexes his hands but keeps them by his sides. A change in the pheromones Daken pushes out has him arching, mouth open and it takes a little bit of work to keep his seat on his still clothed lap. He grinds down, heightening the heat between their bodies and Johnny squirms, his entire body prickling with sensation, Daken knows. By now he can control the pheromones as easily as turning off a tap-Johnny makes a noise in his throat that he will likely deny being a whimper later but Daken knows one when he hears one. He pushes himself up and off of him then sits, legs folded underneath him. 

“Get up,” he says and Johnny does with no hesitation despite knowing what he will have him doing next. He sits too, in a similar position, and waits, “put your hands around my throat.” 

He raises his hands slowly, as if doing so will see Daken changing his mind, but wraps them loosely around his throat anyway. Sweat makes them slick, and he wrinkles his nose but doesn’t have him wipe them-a little sweat never hurt anyone after all. 

“Good. Not so hard, is it?” he swallows and gives him another rush of arousal. Less this time, just enough to keep him from calling it all off in a fit of fear, “but not your best, I hope.”

His hands tighten at the words, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded from the steady trickle of pheromones, “nah.”

His tendency to go monosyllabic is a blessing-the first time they slept together he hadn’t been able to shut up with a bunch of try-hard sexy phrases that left him cold rather than hot as intended. 

He breathes easily until Johnny squeezes harder without being instructed and only a fraction of air passes to his lungs. Johnny still smells of anxiety and his hands shake with more than just arousal; adrenaline reeks like gasoline and makes his heart pound faster. Daken doesn’t do anything to calm him and when he tries to breathe in again it catches in his throat; he shivers, allowing Johnny to see how it makes him feel. Powerless yet powerful, he gives him a taste of his own emotions and his grip falters, his eyes squeezing shut against the wave that threatens to push him over the edge. 

“I’m gonna come I’m-“ 

He stops abruptly and Johnny doesn’t come, he lets go with a sound like he’s been punched, he hunches over and breathes hard as though he had been the one with no air in his lungs. His hands fist in the sheets but Daken grabs his wrists and pulls them upward again.

“I didn’t say stop.” 

“I hate you so much.” 

“You love me.” 

It takes a second for him to refocus but he doesn’t hesitate like before-maybe he thinks if he gets it over with Daken will let him come sooner. The familiar haze settles over him, calm even though his body wants him to try to escape; it doesn’t understand its own power despite how many would-be mortal wounds it has healed. When he blinks he sees spots on Johnny’s face and his dick takes interest immediately, just in time for him to be seconds from passing out, the rest his body screaming for air while his cock sends pleasure out in pinpricks across his skin. 

When he comes back Johnny’s hands smooth over his face fretfully, his brows squished together on his forehead, “are you-“

“I’m fine. But I didn’t come,” he sits up slowly to avoid the headrush and props himself up on his elbows immediately after. 

“You’re not gonna…come on, don’t make me do it again, I’ll do almost anything else.” 

He smiles and Johnny looks away, blinking quickly, but keeps his hands on Daken’s collarbone, “I hear people saying they want to strangle me all the time, they’d be so jealous you got the chance.” 

“Daken.” 

“Such a baby,” he says and Johnny looks down. He forgets how fragile he is compared to Lester who jumped at any chance to cause him bodily injury no matter how much he pretended to hate how hard it got him when Daken touched him. It doesn’t matter; Johnny takes instruction better. “Just once more?” 

“You promise?” 

He kisses him because it keeps him calm to throw tiny scraps of affection in and exhales a, “yes.” 

Johnny slides his hands up to his throat and Daken lies back on one of the pillows, “okay.” 

This time the transition doesn’t take long. He definitely intends to get it over with quickly and Daken holds his breath, lets it grow stale in his lungs and feels himself writhing under the vice grip on his neck as though it will give him the air he needs. He feels his face grow hot and his eyes squeeze shut and then Johnny loosens his grip. His lungs burn with the short breath Johnny allows him-he rewards him and his fingernails dig in as a pitiful sound wrenches itself from Johnny’s throat. He’s close, close enough that Daken barely cuts him off in time. 

“You asshole,” he coughs out; his voice sounds strained and high as though he might start crying at any moment from the injustice of it all and Daken nearly shoves him off. He wants to see him, to hold his face in his hands and watch him as he falls apart but he can’t peel his eyes open even to do that. He stops trying to jerk out of Johnny’s grip and he lets go, lets him breathe again and he arches and manages a hoarse “Johnny” as he comes. 

“You okay? Daken? Answer me.” 

“I’m fine,” he forces himself to open his eyes to meet Johnny’s and he looks less concerned than the first time but not particularly happy. Daken fixes it with pheromones, projecting his satisfaction and Johnny shudders. “Take off your pants.” 

His fingers go about it clumsily but he gets them off eventually and reveals the wet spot soaking his boxer-briefs, “you gotta let me come, seriously, I think I’m dying.” 

“I did say I’d think about it.” 

“Don’t make me beg, Daken, come on,” his hands clench and unclench at his sides, his shoulders taut and he smells like arousal and nothing else. When Daken dials up his arousal his knees shake; he still stands at the foot of the bed, having faithfully folded his jeans and placed them to the side. “Please?” 

“You’re already begging me,” Daken points out, and lets him continue standing there. It makes a pretty picture; Johnny so blatantly aroused and yet perfectly contained like he likes to pretend he can’t be and Daken does enjoy art. 

“Yeah,” he husks out, his hips shoving against air and his breath coming so quickly he might be passing out next. 

“Touch yourself.” 

Being a true exhibitionist Johnny doesn’t hesitate in doing that. He shoves his hand down his shorts and pulls out his cock without any hint of embarrassment. The first stroke of his hand has relief pouring off of him, the tension easing and yet staying the same. “Oh fuck.” 

“Is that any way for a member of the Fantastic Four to speak?” he says and gives him another hit of pheromones anyway. One of his knees gives out and he braces himself on the bed with his other hand, making a choked noise, “does that feel good?” 

“Yeah,” he lets himself drop the rest of the way and rests his cheek on the comforter, his hand hidden from view but the motion still easily visible in the rest of his arm that Daken can see. 

“Are you going to come?” he asks and Johnny groans, clearly battling with telling him and not before making a noise that sounds like an affirmative. “Alright.” 

The cry he makes before he goes lax gets muffled in the blankets but Daken doesn’t mind in particular; he can feel it like a buzz at the back of his own brain and Johnny continues to squirm for a few moments afterwards, letting out a few quiet noises that ebb away until he turns his head to the side again and just breathes. “God damn.” 

“Come up here.” 

“I-yeah. Just,” his arms wobble when he pushes himself up even if it’s just long enough for him to flop himself onto the bed, “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to fight any bad guys for a week.”

“Oh please, you’ll be fine in ten minutes.” 

He grunts, “Still hate choking you.” 

“But I love it when you do.” Johnny doesn’t say anything and Daken sighs, pushes his sweaty hair back off of his face and then does the same to Johnny, “you’re shaking.” 

“It was just-yeah.” 

“Get under the covers,” he says as he wriggles under them himself to escape the air conditioning that he barely noticed before. Johnny’s attempt is less successful but he manages it after a minute or so and warms the bed with his body. 

“You gonna stay the night?” he asks once he stops shivering and Daken has started drowsing like a reptile that has found a particularly warm and sunny spot to lie on. 

He shifts closer, seeking the superheated warmth of Johnny’s body, “I’ll think about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
